On the other side of the glass
by Lediona
Summary: It's sometimes hard to deal with what's right in front of you. Danny and Don explore some new territory in their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

Danny's fingers tapped out a restless cadence on his thigh, his body humming with impatience and nervous energy. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left foot and let out a forceful sigh as he glanced at his watch. It had been less than two minutes since he entered Carbone's Pizzeria and yet it felt like an eternity. Danny was certain everyone was moving at an exceptionally slow pace just to irritate him. The man at the counter changed and added to his order multiple times, pausing to think between each statement like he performing complicated algorithms in his head instead of ordering pizza. The girl behind the counter had her head tilted to one side with a bored look on her face. She nodded ambivalently and snapped her gum while casually jotting down his order.

Danny glared at the pair of them, his eyes narrow slits behind his glasses. He focused his gaze on the back of the man's neck and mentally encouraged him to hurry up, which amounted to rattling off a string of indictments against the man's intelligence, character and family punctuated by every curse word he knew. The man did not get the message and Danny sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

It wasn't like he was in a hurry. On the contrary, he had too much time. Even so, all he wanted to shove the man out of the way, order a slice of pepperoni and spend the next ten minutes doing nothing except eating that greasy pizza. After that, he'd figure out something else to distract him. It would have been a relief to head to the softball field or to the bar with some friends, at least then he'd have something to take his mind of the thing he was trying so desperately not to think about.

Danny looked down and began counting the dingy and chipped tiles that lined the floor of the pizzeria. He was at sixty-seven when the girl handed over three pizza boxes and a drink carrier to the man and he shuffled clumsily out of the way towards the door.

Muttering one last insult under his breath, Danny stepped forward and placed his hands on the counter, choosing to ignore the sticky residue he felt beneath his fingers. Before the girl could open her mouth to ask what he wanted, he blurted out, 'A slice of pepperoni and a Coke,' and he thrust a ten dollar bill at her. With a glare of her own, the girl mutely dumped his change into his hand and turned to where the pizzas were being kept warm under the yellow glow of the heat lamps.

After what Danny considered to be far too long of a time, he finally had his slice of pepperoni in one hand and an ice-cold Coke in the other. He maneuvered through the maze of tables and chairs and sat down at the counter in front of the window.

He stared at the plate for a minute and thought briefly about another time he had sat in this pizza place, laughing and drinking beers with . . . Danny shook his head to clear away the memory. 'Don't go there, Messer,' he muttered before picking up his pizza and taking a bite. He grabbed the cheese with his fingers so it wouldn't slide off entirely and contentedly chewed his bite of pizza, savoring the greasy deliciousness of it. There was nothing in the world but that amazing slice of pizza.

After he had devoured half of the gigantic slice, he paused to slurp his soda, the cold liquid a relief to his slightly burned tongue. Just as he was setting the cup back down he spotted someone outside the window and he froze.

The man was crossing the street, his hands buried in the pockets of his trench coat and eyes cast downward toward the pavement. Danny's heart began to race and a flush crept over his cheeks and ears. _He hasn't seen me yet,_ Danny thought frantically as he cast about for something to use as a cover. There was nothing on the counter, no menus or newspapers, just an empty expanse of grimy Formica. Short of pulling his jacket over his head or diving behind the wall, Danny couldn't think of anything to hide himself that wouldn't immediately attract the attention of the man and everyone in the restaurant.

He resorted to putting his head down and shoveling his pizza into his mouth. Danny could feel himself getting hotter and beads of sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He wondered if he had passed by yet or maybe if he had gone the other direction to go by the dry cleaner's instead of Carbone's. Danny closed his eyes and finished chewing, swallowing the lump of cheese and dough with difficulty. _Please have turned left instead of right. Left. Left. Left,_ he chanted before opening his eyes and raising his head slightly.

There, standing just on the other side of the glass, was Detective Don Flack. Danny instinctively dipped his head, like just maybe if he looked away Don wouldn't really be there. When he looked back up at the other man he watched as Don's expression changed seamlessly from surprise to confusion to hurt. Danny instantly felt ashamed and while he wanted to do something, anything, to take it back, he couldn't get himself to move. He sat immobilized on his stool, hands gripping the counter as he watched Don turn away from the window and walk away down the street.

He kept watching Don's back until the other man disappeared from view. His eyes remained on that spot in the distance as the thoughts he had been trying to suppress flooded his brain. Danny had spent the last day and a half trying to pretend that nothing had happened, wishing that he could walk into the police department and nothing would have changed. But now everything had changed and he was not ready to deal with it. What had they done? He and Don had been friends, good friends, but now Danny knew that they had messed it up.

He ran his hands roughly over his head and squeezed his eyes shut. In that brief second of darkness, Danny thought of the heat of Don's body and the softness of his lips, and he remembered that in the moment it had felt good, it had felt right. Even though he had panicked and broken their kiss, it had felt right. It was really only later, when he had had time to think and worry about what had happened, that it felt wrong. After he had thought about what other people would say or how they would look at him, he had felt mortified and guilty. Danny had decided then that it had been a mistake.

After seeing Don's face through the window, however, Danny resolve began to falter. The look of hurt in Don's eyes had been seared into Danny's brain. He never wanted to see that look again, especially when it was directed at him.

'Fuck!' Danny exclaimed, ignoring the looks from the other customers. He began tapping his fingers frenetically against his leg again. He was torn. He could stay sitting here at Carbone's and never mention what had happened again. He'd have to deal with the repercussions of Don's hurt and anger, which most likely would be the end of their friendship and the development of a really uncomfortable working relationship as well. Danny didn't think he could handle that.

Or he could go after Don and try to explain and to apologize. There was no guarantee that Don would hear him or forgive him and could still very likely result in the end of their friendship and an uncomfortable working relationship. But they would have talked about it and that might make some small difference in this mess.

Danny sighed and chewed on his bottom lip, mulling over his options. To stay or to go, to stay or to go. While staying at Carbone's and avoiding an awkward confrontation sounded delightful, Danny knew it was the coward's choice. The reason he didn't want to go see Don was that he was scared. He was scared of what the kiss meant, scared that Don wouldn't accept his apology, scared that their friendship would never be the same. He told himself that he was just pulling himself together as he delayed getting up off that stool, but in the end it took a huge effort for him to stand up and walk out of Carbone's.

The temperature had dropped and the wind had picked up while Danny had been inside. He hunched his shoulders reflexively to the cold and slowly set off towards Don's apartment. A nervous fluttering had begun in the pit of his stomach.

If Danny was truly honest with himself, he had also thought of a third option - he could go after Don and kiss him again.


	2. Chapter 2

He managed to walk the seventeen blocks back to his apartment building before falling apart. Don had kept his shoulders tensed, his elbows pressed against his sides and his jaw firmly clenched, hoping that by controlling his body he could also control his emotions. It had worked, too, until he reached the street door of his building. When he went to unlock the door, his right hand started shaking so badly that he had to use both hands to get the key in the lock.

Don trudged up the stairs with his hands braced against the walls to keep himself upright. His heart was beating out of control and his head was spinning. For a second he thought he was going to pass out in the stairwell, but through sheer force of will he made it to his door, opened it and stumbled into his apartment.

The apartment seemed foreign. All of his things were neatly arranged in their proper places, it smelled of fresh basil, leather and lemon-scented disinfectant spray as it always did, and he could faintly hear the ordinary city sounds from the street below, but it all felt unfamiliar suddenly. All of what Don thought he knew had changed.

Over the years, Don Flack had carefully created a professional persona. It was a role he had written himself and one he acted very well. At work he was the tough, unwavering and sarcastic detective who knew when to take the firm line and when to crack a joke. He was the consummate competitor, playing basketball and softball for the department teams or shooting pool with the boys after work. He celebrated birthdays and weddings, paid his respects at funerals. His colleagues trusted and respected him, and they fully believed that what they were seeing was the truth.

What Don lacked in formal education, he made up for in determination and instinct. And when it came to his personal life, his instincts told him to compartmentalize his life. So he did just that – at work he was one person, with his family another and when he was on his own he was someone else entirely. He wasn't at all ashamed about being gay, but he just knew that there were people in his life who wouldn't look upon that fact with an open mind. Much of his family was intensely Catholic and would recite Biblical verses and warn of eternal hellfire and damnation were they to find out. And the police department was unfortunately still full of bigoted macho guys who wouldn't think twice about making him the target for their taunts and threats.

And so, Don was a proud gay man in private and a red-blooded, beer-guzzling heterosexual in public. Playing these different roles was grating and upsetting at times, but he was so good at separating the different aspects of his life that most of the time he didn't recognize that he was doing it.

This compartmentalizing of his own life also meant that he tended to develop overlapping and sometimes confused relationships with the people in his life. This is what happened with Danny Messer. While he was Detective Flack, he viewed Danny as a skilled CSI, a stubborn and honorable man, and a good friend. But when he was in the privacy of his own home, when he was just being Don, he harbored a deep love for Danny, and he had for years.

In his fantasies, kissing Danny was always incredible. Their kisses were fiery and full of passion and lust or they were affectionate and meaningful. He had imagined hundreds of scenarios of him and Danny together. He had created a history and a future for them.

But when he kissed Danny in real life, while a small part of him rejoiced at the sheer bliss of touching that beautiful man, he recognized immediately that it was nothing like he imagined. Danny had pulled away, looking bewildered and a bit worried, and had left with an apology and a 'see ya at work'. Initially Don hadn't been too concerned, assuming they'd talk about it and figure out how things were going to be between them. Except Don didn't see Danny at all yesterday or this morning, and then, with the incident at Carbone's, he realized that Danny was avoiding him. The moment Danny ducked his head was the moment Don felt his heart break.

Don shrugged off his coat, throwing it over the back of the armchair as he walked farther into his apartment. Adrenaline was coursing through him now and he couldn't make sense of his emotions, there were too many of them to differentiate. All he knew was that his head felt like it was going to explode and he needed to do something to relieve the building pressure.

He loosened his tie, pulling roughly on the knot so it dug into the back of his neck. He held it like that for a minute and relished in the flash of pain it caused. The physical pain gave him something else to focus on, something to distract him from the pain in his chest. He pulled harder and the knot gave, the tie sliding from around his neck. Don looked dimly at the tie in his hand and with a strangled yell, he hurled it across the room. Unfortunately, ties don't make much sound when thrown against a wall, and it fell lamely and anticlimactically to the floor.

Don glared at the pile of fabric and anger won out as the dominant emotion running through him. He cast around for something else to throw and his hand landed on a hardcover book that was lying on his coffee table. Picking it up, he admired the weight of it before hurling it, too, against the wall. The book made a satisfying bang as it hit the wall, and it also left a deep gouge behind.

Don was drawing ragged breaths through his mouth and his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. He felt dizzy and out of control, which scared him because he was usually able to keep such tight control of himself. He moved to the sofa and sat down with his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. Thinking about the techniques he had learned to calm down people in distress, he began to regain his composure, forcing himself to take deep breaths and steady his hands.

When he was breathing normally again, Don sat back in the sofa and closed his eyes. He thought of Danny sitting in that window, radiating shame and wishing he could be anywhere else in the world except looking at Don. He tried to imagine how Danny must be feeling. He tried to accept that kissing another man must be incredibly confusing for him. He tried to forgive Danny for not knowing how to handle it. But he couldn't, at least not yet.

'Why couldn't he've just talked to me?' Don whispered. 'I'm still me.'

He inhaled deeply and pressed his fingers to his eyes in an attempt to head off the tears he could feel welling up. He didn't want to cry, not even if Danny was the one person in his life he would be devastated to lose.

There was a knock at the door. Don was tempted to ignore it, but when whoever it was knocked again he pushed himself off the sofa, took a deep breath and walked slowly across the room.

'Yeah?' he asked roughly as he swung open the door. He stopped abruptly and stared uncomprehendingly at Danny.

'I . . .' Danny stopped and looked down at his hands, fiddling with the leather bracelet on his right wrist. After a moment of silence he looked back up at Don.

Don felt himself breaking inside all over again. 'What are ya doin' here, Danny?'

'Can I come in? Just for a minute,' Danny asked.

Don hesitated and then moved aside so Danny could pass into the room. He closed the door and slowly turned around to face the other man.

'I don't know what to say,' Danny said quietly. 'It seems like there should be words, but I can't find 'em.'

This annoyed Don. 'You came all the way down here to tell me you don't know what to say? That's awfully helpful, Danny. Thank you.'

'I'm sorry! I just . . .'

'You could say what happened between us was confusing and strange for you. You could apologize for avoiding me the last couple days. You could explain why you couldn't look at just now at Carbone's. You could call me a fag and tell me how disgusting I am. You can say you want to pretend that kiss never happened,' Don was yelling now. 'I don't care what you say, Danny, just fucking say something!' Don stopped and glared at him.

Danny looked surprised at this tirade and after a second, when Don's words had sunk in, he said, 'But I don't want that.'

'Don't want what?'

'I don't want to pretend it never happened.'

'What?' Don was confused.

Danny took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Silence enveloped them once again and Don waited, becoming more anxious by the second, for Danny to explain. Finally, after an unbearably long pause, he heard Danny's voice, a soft whisper.

'Kiss me again.'

Don blanched. 'What?' he repeated.

'Kiss me,' Danny said again, this time a little louder.

Don was across the room before his brain even registered the command to move. He reached out, hands settling gently on the sides of Danny's face, and pulled him into a kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

As a sophomore in high school Danny dated a girl named Colette Donovan. She had long chestnut hair that cascaded around her shoulders and deep brown eyes that drove Danny crazy when she looked up at him in a certain way. All through the school day he thought about her, wanting to touch her body and kiss those soft, full lips. More than once he had found himself getting hard in the middle of a chemistry or history lesson just because he was thinking about his beautiful Colette.

When they were alone in her parents' basement she would sit so close to him and look up at him with those eyes, and Danny was lost in her. It would start with a warm, tingly sensation in his stomach that spread through his body slowly like lava, his skin getting hot and sensitive to the touch. His breathing would become shallow and his fingers would start to shake slightly. They made out for hours, hands exploring, bodies rubbing together. It never went any farther because she wouldn't let him take off her shirt or jeans, but the rush he got from just kissing her was enough to keep Danny going for months.

It was the same feeling he had now kissing Don. It was fun, exhilarating and intoxicating; the teenager in him rejoicing. Any doubts that had been lingering in his mind were swiftly forgotten the moment Don's lips touched his. He let himself be consumed with kissing the other man.

Don, however, pulled away, resting his forehead against Danny's. 'Are you sure?' he asked softly.

Danny closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Don's body so close to his own. He breathed him in, inhaling laundry detergent, cologne, sweat and the unmistakable smell of the city itself. The combination was masculine and powerful, and very Don. Danny made a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a growl and a moan. 'Yes,' he said, finally pulling himself together enough to form a word.

He found Don's lips again, kissing them eagerly. Don's arms snaked around his shoulders, pressing their bodies together, and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue over Danny's lips. Danny parted them willingly, his hands roaming over Don's back, feeling the strong lines of muscle through the white cotton dress shirt.

Taking awkward steps backwards, Danny edged towards the sofa, pulling Don with him as he went. His calves finally connected with it and he sat down, breaking their kiss. Don leaned down to push Danny back so he was lying on the sofa and then stretched out on top of him. 'Wait,' Danny murmured against Don's lips and Don pulled back, worry flashing in his eyes. Danny removed his glasses and set them on the coffee table. 'Sorry. They were pressing into my face,' he explained. Don chuckled and dropped a soft kiss on the bridge of Danny's nose.

It was fully dark outside when they came up for air. The streetlamps from outside providing just enough light for Danny to see Don's face, his eyes were closed and he was breathing hard. Danny watched him, his thoughts fuzzily racing through his brain. There was something incredibly sexy and exciting about Don lying on top of him and Danny was suddenly very aware of the erection trapped in his jeans. He arched up, pushing his hips against the weight of Don's body and felt Don's hips push down in response. They remained silent for a couple of minutes and then Don finally opened his eyes to look down at Danny. He brushed his thumb across Danny's temple and then said throatily, 'Come on.'

Danny allowed himself to be pulled off the couch and he stood on slightly unsteady legs. Don ran his hands down Danny's sides and began toying with the hem of his t-shirt, fingers darting underneath the fabric to tease the sensitive skin of Danny's stomach. Danny sucked in air shakily. This was the moment for things moved on from making out like high school kids and a knot of anxiety started forming in Danny's stomach. Either he pushed Don's hands away like Colette had done to his or he allowed things to go farther.

Don was lightly kissing Danny's face, timing each kiss with the movements of his hands. Danny stood, trying to think, to make a choice, but his thoughts kept getting muddled each time Don's fingers or lips came in contact with his skin. Then, after receiving a stream of kisses and caresses, he made a choice. He slowly began to raise his arms and soon they were overhead. Don lifted his t-shirt, pulling it off and quickly discarding it on the floor. Don's eyes raked over him, his hands ran over Danny's shoulders and down his arms, then he lifted Danny's hands and set them at the top button of his shirt, letting his own hands drop to his sides.

Danny's heart was racing and his mouth felt dry. He could feel Don's eyes watching him, making him nervous, and he clumsily unbuttoned the top button. Focusing his attention on the task at hand, he slowly made his way through the rest of the buttons, pausing at Don's waist to pull the shirt out his trousers. Finally the shirt hung open, Don's skin dark in contrast to the white material. Danny stared at that strip of skin, entranced and paralyzed. He hoped that Don would pull the shirt off his shoulders himself because Danny wasn't certain he would be able to do it. But Don just stood there waiting for Danny's next move.

Finally he worked up the nerve to raise his hands and he grasped Don's shirt near the collar and pushed it backwards to expose Don's shoulders. The shirt fell gracefully down Don's back and he twisted his wrists free of the cuffs. They stood motionless for a couple minutes, Danny taking in the sight of the shirtless Don in front of him. He had seen Don without a shirt on many times, in the locker room at work or on the basketball court, but he had never truly looked at him before. He was well-built and strong, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, the muscles of his chest and stomach well-defined even in the darkness. He was beautiful and Danny understood why women constantly threw themselves at the detective. But Don wasn't with any of them; he was standing in front of Danny, radiating desire.

Don was rubbing his fingers against the palms of his hands at his sides, again waiting for Danny to decide what happened next. Danny took a deep breath and reached out to touch Don's stomach with his right hand. His fingers lightly ran along the skin towards Don's belly button. The muscles of Don's stomach contracted, but otherwise the other man remained still. Danny continued his exploration, enjoying the sensation of Don's warm skin under his fingertips. His left hand joined his right and he pressed his hands more firmly against Don's abdomen, fingers gripping hungrily into his sides. Needing to taste him, Danny placed a sloppy kiss on Don's mouth. Don responded by wrapping his arms tightly around Danny's shoulders, crushing their bodies together.

They stumbled across the living room, Don trying to steer the way to the hallway and into his bedroom. Hands travelled around exploring newly exposed skin, hips ground together creating glorious friction against aching erections. Don was kissing his way along Danny's collarbone making Danny gasp in delight when they knocked into the bed frame.

Don tipped Danny back to ease him onto the bed and an alarm went off in Danny's head. He instantly sobered up, resisting. Climbing into bed with Don was different than making out with him on the sofa. Something he wasn't sure he was ready for yet. The kissing, the touching, the stripping off of clothing – it had all been building to this point he knew, but he couldn't do it. He turned his head away, embarrassed.

There was an awkward pause before Don took Danny's chin in his hand and lifted his head so Danny was forced to look at him. 'I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do, Danny. You know that, right?' Don asked. 'You say "stop", we stop.'

Danny moved his head; it was something between a nod and a shake. 'I know,' he whispered. 'It's just that I don't know what I want exactly, but I know the idea of laying down on the bed scared the shit out of me just now.' He swallowed and added, 'Sorry.'

Don shook his head and took a small step backwards. 'Don't be sorry, Danny. The first time for anything is always scary, I get that. Don't be sorry.'

'I just killed the mood, didn't I?' Danny asked, the cold air of the apartment surrounding him after the heat from Don's body dissipated. He may not have been ready to climb into bed with Don, but he also didn't like the distance between them. He closed the gap, wrapped his arms around Don's waist again and set his chin on Don's shoulder.

Don pulled him close. 'It's okay.'

Danny was quiet for awhile, chewing on his bottom lip. Don's hands were tracing soft patterns along his spine, the movement making the tiny hairs on his back stand on end. Whenever Don's hands or lips were on him, Danny seemed to lose all reason and control. It just felt too good.

He realized that he was still hard. 'Hey, Don?'

'Yeah?'

'I can't get in that bed,' he began breathily, 'but I also don't want to stop. Is there another option, you know, one that'd fall in between the two?'

Don leaned back to look at him. 'You're not messing with me, right?' Danny shook his head and Don peered at him as if he was trying to analyze the thoughts in Danny's head. Don let out a slow exhale. 'And you'll tell me if you want to stop?' Danny nodded.

Don still looked skeptical, but he turned them so Danny was facing away from the bed and began to lay soft kisses all over Danny's face, neck and chest. Danny closed his eyes and tilted his head back, allowing Don to take control of the situation.

Don moved behind him then, placing his left arm over Danny's shoulder and pulling him tightly against his chest, his right hand resting against Danny's hip. He kissed the sensitive skin behind Danny's right ear, making Danny shiver. A ragged breath escaped him as Don continued to nuzzle and kiss along his hairline. 'You'll tell me to stop?' Don asked again between kisses. Danny, already lost in the sensation of Don's touch, absently nodded and leaned his head back against Don.

Continuing to kiss Danny's neck and shoulder, Don's right hand inched across Danny's stomach and his fingertips slid under the waistband of Danny's underwear. Little spasms shot through Danny's stomach and made his breath catch in his throat. Don alternated between caressing Danny's sides and stomach and then dipping lower to tease along his underwear. Eventually Don's explorations grew bolder and his hand dropped lower to play across the front of Danny's jeans, gently rubbing the bulge he found there. Danny groaned.

Tightening his grip across Danny's chest, Don began to undo Danny's belt, deftly maneuvering the leather and metal apart with one hand. He pushed it aside and fingered the button of the jeans, popping it through the hole and then pulling the zipper slowly downwards. He pushed the denim down past Danny's hips and the jeans fell to the floor. Danny's head was buzzing and he couldn't think clearly. He bucked his hips, wanting to be free of his underwear, but Don was playing a slow and cautious game, running his hand along Danny's thighs and avoiding his erection.

Once again Don slid his fingers under the waistband of the boxers, venturing lower but still avoiding the contact that Danny craved. 'Please,' Danny whispered, his lips parted and his breathing shallow. Don laughed throatily and stalled the movement his hand. He lowered his lips to the point where Danny's neck met his shoulder, sucking, licking and nipping at the delicate skin there. Danny shuddered, the sensation shooting through his body to the tip of his cock.

Don moved to start pushing down the boxers and Danny, impatient, grabbed the waistband and roughly pushed them down out of the way. 'Please,' he said again, this time with a commanding edge to his voice. When Don's hand closed around his erection, Danny inhaled sharply and locked his hands on the arm across his chest. Don moved his hand steadily over the silky skin at first, building a slow rhythm. Then he began to toy with Danny, trailing a finger along the underside of his cock, rubbing a thumb across the tip, playing with his balls, caressing the sensitive skin behind them. Danny was overwhelmed with pleasure.

Everything had ceased to exist except for Don's hand on his cock. That hand moved so perfectly on him that Danny knew he wouldn't last long. It was too much, too unexpected and too amazing. All of his muscles were quivering and he knew he was making ridiculous noises but he couldn't control himself. Drops of sweat were dripping down his neck and he could feel Don's chest sliding against his back. He tightened his grip on Don's arm as the fingers around his cock increased their pressure and speed.

In the seconds before he came, Danny suddenly wished he could see Don's face, but he didn't have the strength or wherewithal to turn around. Instead he shut his eyes tightly and pictured Don's face, he was wearing the same expression he'd had earlier in the evening, eyes half-lidded and lustful, mouth slightly open. And Danny thought he was beautiful. With that image in his head, he surrendered, coming hard, semen shooting across the floor and covering Don's hand.

Feeling his legs go to jelly, Danny leaned back against Don's chest. He didn't have the strength to move or think, even his eyelids felt heavy. Allowing himself to be supported by the arms around him, he slowly became aware of his surrounding once more and his breathing started to return to normal.

'Fuck. That was . . . That was . . .' Danny couldn't find a word to finish that sentence.

'Boom?' Don suggested, a smirk on his face.

Danny snorted. 'Yeah, boom!'

Danny woke up confused. A cell phone was ringing, but it was not his ringtone and the lighting in his room was strange. It wasn't the blue glow from his alarm clock, instead an orange light filtered through the blinds from the streetlamps outside. And then the bed moved. He heard a scrabbling noise and the unmistakable sound of a cell phone being flipped open.

Don's voice, scratchy and low, broke the silence of the early morning. 'Flack.'

Danny's eyes snapped open. That one word, spoken in the dark, had gone off like a gunshot and the past twenty-four hours came rushing back to him. He was in Don's bed – he, Danny Messer, was in Don Flack's bed! How had he ended up here after his little panic attack last night? Danny was a little fuzzy about what happened after he came. He was pretty sure he'd willingly lain down, so clearly the bed wasn't so scary post-orgasm. And he thought Don had tried to reassure him about it, saying something like 'Just sleep. Nothing else has to happen.' Danny must have believed him because he had slept really well. But now, in the stark reality of the morning, Danny awake was a little more uncertain than Danny asleep had been.

The bedside light turned on and Don pushed himself up to sitting, leaning his head back against the headboard. Danny considered pretending to still be asleep, but instead he steeled himself and rolled over onto his left side to peer blearily at Don. While listening quietly to the person on the other end of the line, Don reached out and hooked his index finger around Danny's pinkie. Danny looked down at the point where their hands connected and, in a place that seemed detached from himself, wondered what it would be like to walk down the street holding Don's hand. After a long pause Don spoke again, 'Okay. Yeah. I'll be there as soon as I can.'

'I gotta go,' Don said quietly, giving Danny's hand a playful little tug and then flinging his legs over the side of the bed. Danny watched as he stood up and stretched, his long arms raised overhead and the lean muscles in his back flexing with the movement. 'Apparently it's been a busy night and they need someone to take a case in the West Village. Multiple DBs. Sounds messy.'

With the mention of work, Danny became more alert and sat up. 'I'll come with you.'

'That's probably not such a good idea.'

Danny ran a hand over his hair, trying to stop it from sticking out in all directions. 'What, if it's crazy at the lab they'll probably need more help –'

'Danny, wait until you get a call from Mac.' Don spoke in a clipped manner, fixing Danny with a look.

'What? Why?' he demanded, irritated that Don thought he could give him orders.

Don sighed and his posture softened. 'Listen, Danny, you've gone gay for what, all of 24 hours? I've been gay my entire life – and in all that time I've picked up a few things. You arriving at work before being contacted about the case and us showing up together at 6am might lead to some questions, and questions lead to rumors. Best not give 'em any reason to suspect anything, that's all.'

'Oh.' Up to this point, Danny hadn't fully considered how this thing, whatever it was, might impact his life, how he'd now have to hide and pretend. Thinking about what had happened last night was confusing enough, but having to deal with it with the rest of the world watching made Danny feel a little queasy. He suddenly felt the need to move, to think, to run or maybe to hide.

He started to climb out of the bed. 'Well, I'll just –' he paused, remembering that he was completely naked. A flush crept over his cheeks and he glanced up at Don, who was now standing comfortably in his boxer briefs, casually selecting a shirt and tie for the day. Being naked in front of Don in the morning was very different from being naked with him last night. Danny looked around for his own underwear and cursed softly when he realized they were on the floor on the opposite side of the room.

'Huh?' Don asked, turning around. Danny instinctively grabbed at the sheet around his waist and pulled it up a bit more. Don's eyes followed the movement and he laughed.

'Danny, get dressed, go home and get some breakfast, and wait for Mac's call,' he said. Grabbing his trousers, shirt and tie he headed toward the bedroom door, pausing to look back at Danny before he left the room. 'But don't leave without saying goodbye,' he said with a grin.

Danny remained sitting in the bed for a couple minutes, making sure that Don was definitely in the bathroom before he darted across the room to his boxers and quickly pulled them on. Then he began the familiar 'morning after' hunt for his clothes. His jeans had ended up in a heap pushed slightly under the bed. He fished them out and thrust his legs into the well-worn denim, fixing the leather belt around his waist. One sock had been trapped under his jeans and the other was ten feet away by the sturdy oak dresser.

It always intrigued Danny to discover where clothes ended up when they had been discarded during nights of passion and lust. Things always ended up in strange locations and he never remembered exactly how his shirt, for example, landed on a framed painting on a wall or why his boxers had to be fished out from behind a sofa. This search for clothing always made him question the reliability of his memory; how was it possible that anything had happened that would make clothing disperse in such a seemingly random manner around a room? Danny shrugged. It was just one of the interesting results of being swept up in the moment.

Now fully dressed from the waist down, Danny looked around for his t-shirt. He vaguely remembered it being pulled off and discarded, but he couldn't pin down where it had happened. When his search of Don's bedroom yielded nothing, he walked out into the hallway. The door to the bathroom was open a few inches, steam curling around it from the shower. Danny took a step towards it, hesitated and then moved into the living room instead.

His glasses were still on the coffee table, lying next to the TV remote. He pushed them onto his nose and the apartment came into clearer focus. Danny had been to Don's apartment many times before, usually to watch a game or play poker with the boys. From those visits, Danny really only remembered the sofa, the large flat-screen TV and beer. Now, looking around him, he noticed elements of the space that clearly evoked Don. There was a coffee table book about the lost architecture of New York – of course, Don would own a coffee table book – lying on a handsomely made iron, wood and glass coffee table. A framed black and white photograph of Shea Stadium hung above the brown leather sofa. The bookshelf contained A Catcher in the Rye, The Thin Red Line and A Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, among other titles, and framed photos of the Flack family dotted the shelves. There was a very real feel to Don's apartment, it felt comfortable, lived in and accepting.

He located his t-shirt and shoes, pulled them on and then shrugged into his leather jacket. The water had stopped running in the bathroom and he walked quietly towards the hallway again, stopping by the doorway to examine a gouge on the wall and pick up a book that was lying on the floor. He set it and one of Flack's ties on the table.

Danny knocked lightly on the bathroom door and pushed it open. Don was standing by the sink brushing his teeth. His white dress shirt was still unbuttoned and a green tie hung loosely around his neck. Seeing that strip of exposed skin in the mirror sent a shiver down Danny's spine and the memory of unbuttoning Don's shirt last night came rushing back to him. He openly stared at Don's body, appreciating it and remembering what it felt like under his hands.

Don ducked his head to spit and rinsed off his toothbrush, breaking Danny's daze. 'I don't know that I've ever had such an appreciative audience while brushing my teeth before,' Don said, turning and smiling at Danny. Danny's ears turned red in response to being caught.

'Sorry,' Danny croaked, 'I'm, um . . . I'm going to take off.' Saying goodbye the morning after hooking up with someone was always awkward, and this was no exception. Since waking up, Danny had been oscillating between embarrassment and panic on the one hand and curiosity and attraction on the other. Now, at the point of saying goodbye and leaving Don's apartment, it was the embarrassment and panic that were winning out. To step outside into the real world again meant accepting and dealing with what he and Don had done, it meant they now had a secret to keep from the other people. Don's apartment was a stronghold and while they were both still inside their secret was safe, to leave meant bursting that bubble of security. Danny could feel his breath starting to catch in his chest.

'Hey, now,' Don said, closing the distance between them in two smooth strides. He reached out, fingers settling on the back of Danny's neck, and pulled Danny into a hug. 'It's gonna be all right,' Don whispered, his lips close to Danny's ear.

Danny wrapped his arms around Don's waist and melted into the hug. Don's hair was still damp and he smelled of soap – clean, refreshing and oddly comforting. They stood there in the doorway of the bathroom, holding onto each other tightly until Danny finally nodded and pulled away, giving Don what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he stepped back.

Danny walked back toward the front door of the apartment, Don following a few steps behind him.

'I'll see you later, Danny,' Don said when they had reached the entryway. He tugged on the lapel of Danny's jacket and gave him a quick kiss on the corner of the mouth.

'Yeah, see ya,' Danny replied, a bashful smile playing on his lips. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

Don arrived in the West Village and angled his car against the curb. Two police cruisers were parked outside the tall red brick building, a former civic building now converted into the Petty Cash Artist's Quarter. The murders had taken place on the third floor of the building. He gripped the steering wheel and looked up at the building, stalling. He thought he'd be overjoyed after spending the night with Danny, but a sense of dread was slowly starting to descend upon him.

Although he had smiled and kept things light this morning for Danny's sake, inside he wasn't feeling so calm. He managed to keep control of his uncertainty while Danny was still in his apartment, but the minute Danny had left, the damn was broken open. He couldn't help but feel like they had made an irreparable mistake. He shouldn't have let things go so far, should have stopped the second Danny got uncomfortable. But he didn't. What did he do instead? He firmly held the other man in place and proceeded to take off his clothes. _'Yeah, first time's are really scary, Danny, but don't worry, all I'm going to do is grope you a bit because at the moment I can't think clearly and I've wanted to touch you for so long. So sorry!'_ Don thought angrily, slamming his palms against the steering wheel. He had been like a rutting animal, unreasonable and single-minded in his pursuit.

After Danny had drifted off to sleep, Don had slipped from the bed and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. He could still feel Danny's back pressed against his chest, sweaty and warm, and Danny's ass moving against his groin as he arched into Don's hand. He could still hear the quiet moaning that escaped Danny's lips. All of it had driven him crazy in the moment and then, long after his skin had cooled and his breathing had slowed, the memory of Danny's body against his, shaking in ecstasy, made him hard again. He had slunk off to the bathroom to jerk off, picturing Danny in his mind as brought off a bittersweet orgasm with his hand. Afterwards, he had washed his hands methodically and avoided looking in the mirror – it had made him feel dirty and ridiculous, and he was thankful that Danny was still asleep when he climbed back into bed. Sleep eluded him most of the night, only allowing him short, fitful periods of rest.

In the clear light of the morning, Don felt even worse. He could definitely see those few beautiful hours with Danny blowing up in his face. It had to end at some point, surely Danny would realize what a mistake he had made, and their friendship would be over. Don realized that losing Danny completely would hurt more than loving him from afar ever did. He had messed up and he despised himself for it.

Still firmly rooted in his car seat, Don scrubbed his hands roughly over his face, urging himself to get a grip. He had an investigation to lead; any thoughts of Danny would have to wait until after his shift. A couple deep breaths and a few choice words later, he had pushed open the car door and walked resolutely into the building.

After ascending the stairs, he spotted a female police officer standing outside a door on the left-hand side of the hallway. She was speaking with a middle-aged woman. 'Alvarez,' Don said, nodding to the officer as he passed by her into the room.

The studio was spacious, large windows lining the far wall, allowing the early morning sunshine to flood the room. Along the right wall were shelving units crammed full of tools, spools of wire, sheets of metal, pieces of electronics, and various other materials. A large – thing – stood in the middle of the room. Don supposed it was art, but it looked more like a heap pulled out of a trash compacter at the city dump. Don dismissed it and turned to the other officer standing in the room.

'What do we got, Richards?'

Officer Richards looked up from his notepad. 'Oh, hey, Detective Flack. Three DOAs, two male and one female. Rex Martin, 43, he's the artist who rents the space, stabbed in the chest. Louise Atkinson, 31, identified as Martin's girlfriend. The other male is a John Doe, appears to be in his late teens or early 20s. Both he and Ms. Atkinson have sustained fatal gunshot wounds.'

Don took in the scene at his feet. Rex Martin's body was sprawled in a pool of blood at the base of the 'sculpture', a large metal object protruding from his chest. It was a gruesome wound and Don looked away in repulsion. The other victims were lying on their stomachs approximately ten feet away from Martin with their hands bound behind their backs with wire.

'Who called it in?' he asked, studying the ligatures. The fact that their hands were bound while Martin's remained free led Don to wonder about who the intended victim had been.

'Rose Patterson, another artist. She's the one out in the hall with Officer Alvarez. She said she noticed the door ajar when she arrived this morning and she thought it was strange because Martin usually works from mid-afternoon until late at night, but he's never here in the morning. She poked her head in and saw the bodies and called us. Detective Taylor just radioed to say he and the M.E. are on the way.'

Don nodded. 'Thanks, Richards.' He proceeded to scan the room, checking to see if the perpetrator had left the gun behind. The floor of the studio was covered in bits of scrap metal though, so the CSIs would have to dig through the piles of what Don considered junk to see what they could find.

'Hey, Flack.'

Don looked up to see Stella striding towards him, a grim expression on her face. Don's breath caught in his chest as he looked towards the door, expecting to see Danny walk in, but it was only Mac and Sid who followed Stella into the studio. He let out the breath he had been holding.

'Stella. Mac. Sid,' he said by way of greeting and then nodded to the DBs, reciting the information Officer Richards had just told him. He stood back and let Sid and the two CSIs examine the scene. Stella started picking her way carefully through the studio, taking overview photographs of the room and the victims.

'I'm assuming COD is the gunshot wounds for these two. Rigor's set in, so they've been dead for at least six hours,' Mac said, squatting between the woman and the young man.

'Mr. Martin here has yet to go into full rigor. Looks like his journey to the pearly gates began after his friends'. And aside from the obvious shard of metal sticking out of his chest, there are also some smaller abrasions to his face, neck and hands. Possibly tortured before the final blow?' Sid mused.

'Hey, Mac, sorry I'm late!' Danny came hurtling through the door, kit in hand. 'Delay on the train – took me ages to get here.'

'Don't worry about it, Danny. I just need you to get to work now that you're here.'

'Sure thing, Mac,' Danny said, glancing briefly at Don before moving into the room and pulling on some rubber gloves. Flack tried to avoid looking at him, but his eyes were drawn to the other man.

'Stella, once you've finished with the overviews, why don't you accompany the bodies back to the morgue with Sid and see what evidence you can get from them and try to ID the John Doe,' Mac said, taking control of the investigation. 'Danny, you'll stay here with me and we'll analyze the scene.'

Danny nodded and opened his kit, glancing up to meet Don's eye. They stared at each other for a minute, Don's heart rate steadily increasing. There was a hint of a smile on Danny's lips and he tilted his head slightly in question. Don didn't know how to respond and was trying to get himself to nod or smile or something when Danny's tongue flicked across his bottom lip in his characteristic gesture and Don had to look away. That little flick of the tongue drove Don crazy and whenever Danny did it, all he wanted to do was pull him into a kiss and taste that bottom lip.

He coughed and shook his head, trying to refocus his attention on the job he had to do. 'All right, I'll leave you to it, Mac. I'm going to go interview the other artists who use this building and see what they know about our DBs.'

'Thanks, Flack. Let me know what you find out,' Mac said quickly before returning to photographing the bodies of Rex Martin, Louise Atkinson and the unknown boy.

Don could feel Danny's eyes on him as he walked out of the room, but he couldn't look back at the other man. Those blue eyes just undid him completely.

'Mrs. Patterson?' Don asked, approaching the woman standing in the hall. He nodded to Officer Alvarez and she moved away to join her partner. 'Hi, I'm Detective Flack. How are you doing?' The woman was clearly distraught. Her eyes were cast downward and she was rubbing her hands together nervously. At Don's question, she looked up, her deep brown eyes watery.

'I'm fine,' she said finally, the slight rise in her voice making her statement seem more like a question. 'It was just such a shock to find them like that.' She waved her hand in the direction of Martin's studio door.

Don nodded and made what he hoped was a comforting sound. 'What can you tell me about Rex Martin? Did you know him well?'

Rose shook her head. 'I only run into him occasionally in the hallway. We tend to work opposite hours. I like working in the morning, while he didn't usually show up until the afternoon sometime. And I'm relatively new to the PCAQ, so I'm still just meeting everyone.'

'The PCAQ?'

'The Petty Cash Artists' Quarter,' Rose explained.

'Oh, right.' He was really off his game today. Don shook his head as if trying to clear his mind. 'What was your opinion of Mr. Martin? '

'He wasn't very friendly, never wanted to chat. In the few times I've run into him I think he spoke about five words to me. I figured he just liked to keep to himself, so I stopped trying to talk to him and just smiled if we happened to pass each other in the building. Perhaps some of the others could tell you more about him, but I just don't know all that much. Sorry, Detective.'

'That's okay, Mrs. Patterson. Just a couple more questions, do you know if anyone in the building had a problem with Mr. Martin? Any arguments or disagreements that you remember?'

Rose thought for a moment. 'Not that I remember specifically, but like I said we worked opposite hours. But I do remember Patricia mentioning that he complained about her music.'

'And who is Patricia?'

'Oh, she's another artist. Patricia Rowland, down in studio number twelve. She sometimes listens to opera while she paints. I find it soothing, but apparently Rex did not. Do you like opera, dear?'

Don smiled at her. 'No, ma'am, I can't say that I do. Now what can you tell me about Louise Atkinson or the young man?'

'The woman would show up here occasionally with Rex. I never spoke to her though. And I've never seen the boy before. Sorry.'

'Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. I appreciate your help.' Don finished jotting some notes and reached into his breast pocket to retrieve a business card. 'Call me if you think of anything else.' The older woman nodded and shuffled back to her studio across the hall.

Don walked down the hall and rapped on the door of Patricia Rowland's studio. There was no answer. He tried the door of studio number eleven, but there was no answer there either. He turned around and headed back down the hallway to check out the rest of the building.

When he reached the top of the stairs, a tall redheaded woman was approaching him. She appeared to be in her late thirties to early forties and was wearing a navy blue dress with a turquoise cardigan. Her eyes were wild with excitement behind her tortoise shell glasses. 'What's going on?' she asked breathlessly, trying to see down the hall over Don's shoulder.

'Erm . . . who are you?' Don asked, blocking her progress up the stairs.

She fixed her eyes on his face and Don immediately felt uncomfortable. 'I'm Patricia,' she said, holding out her hand. He shook it, letting go of her cold fingers as quickly as possible.

'Ah, Patricia Rowland, yes? My name is Detective Flack. I'm investigating a murder that took place in the building last night, and I was wondering what you could tell me about Rex Martin. Mrs. Patterson mentioned that you had an argument with him recently.'

'Rex Martin was a horrible man. He was rude and loud, and he was terribly frightening when he was angry,' Patricia said. Her voice was sickly sweet and it gave Don a chill. 'He often complained about my music. You see, I love opera and I find that it helps my creative process to listen to it while I paint, but sometimes when Rex was in his studio working he come charging down the hall and pound on my door, yelling at me to turn off 'that god-awful screeching,' as he called it. So yes, we've had words in the past.'

'Did it ever occur to you to wear headphones?' Don asked without thinking.

'Excuse me?'

He realized what he said and quickly tried to redirect the conversation. 'Sorry, nevermind. Ah . . . were you in the building last night, Mrs. Rowland?'

She looked at him, pursing her lips before answering. 'No, I wasn't. I was here yesterday during the day, but I left about three in the afternoon. You're not suggesting that I had something to do with this tragedy, are you?'

Don raised an eyebrow. Now she thought his death was a tragedy?

'No, ma'am, I'm just trying to gather information. I'll be talking to all of the artists who have studios in the building.'

This seemed to appease her. 'You have beautiful eyes, detective. A startling shade of blue. I'd love to paint you sometime.' She leaned closer to him and Don instinctively took a step back.

'I don't think so, lady,' Don spat, handing her a business card reluctantly and fleeing down the stairs to canvas the second floor.

The rest of the building yielded only a few other artists, the majority of them not being in their studios at the time. From what Don gathered, it seemed like no one in the building liked Rex Martin or had any substantial relationship with the man. They all seemed to steer clear of him and he of them. And none of the artists he had talked to admitted to being in the building the previous night. Don decided to head back to the precinct to track down the manager of the building and get a list of the other artists who rented studios there.

As Don got into his car he looked up at the third floor. He could have gone back up to talk to Mac about what he'd discovered through his interviews, but instead chose to fill him in later at the lab. Danny's presence seemed to resonate throughout the building and Don needed to get out of there.


End file.
